The Paradox Prince
by The White Fool
Summary: My reclusive lifestyle I lived in my father's shadow. Until the caravan arrived from the south, when I was fourteen; and gave to me the strangest gift I could imagine: Paradox.


  Author's Note:  *waves to whatever audience she has managed to attract*  Hello and welcome to The Paradox Prince.  It is advisable that all seats be placed in the recline position for better enjoyment of this – rather lengthy chapter.  Hope you enjoy!  Reviews are appreciated!

Chapter One: Paradox

   I was a boy of fourteen summers the day the caravan came with its unusual delivery.  They were men from the southern regions of Gondor, bordering the deserts, lands peopled by the Southrons, who were swarthy men of hostile disposition towards northern rulers.  Horns winded long and loud heralded the caravan's arrival, of which we had received short notice and so anticipated eagerly.  My father, the king Elessar, abandoned his duties for the fair morning and what it brought to him.  Out of curiosity I dared to skulk in his shadow, unnoticed and unmissed by my mentors.  I think they found me an unruly, recalcitrant youth with no taste for noble etiquette or education.

  I took to the alleyways, and wove my way through the gathered crowd in time to see the foreign merchants welcomed through the gate and admitted into the First Circle.  They were a strange company of men and women, their skin sun-browned and their hair dark and braided.  At first I surmised them to be Southrons, coming to declare open war upon my father's land, until the leader began to speak.  He knelt before the king and bowed his head respectfully.  Father acknowledged him and laughingly bade him rise.

  'My lord, we are nomads come from the harsh lands of the deep South,' the man informed him, gesturing towards the caravan and the people peering owlishly from behind wains and around their burden beasts.  'We bring gifts to offer to Your Majesty and your magnificent holdings; but do not think us disrespectful, for we seek to request something of you in return.'

  'Say only what you wish, and I shall see what may be done to accommodate it,' Father answered genially.  I pardoned myself to the tall candle maker as I nearly upset him trying to snake closer.  

  'We wish for your permission to camp for a while upon the Pelannor,' the man said with utmost humility.  'You see, we are a nomadic community - vagrants may be a better word.  We were exiled from our homeland for treason; and so we wander from place to place seeking sanctuary until we move onwards again.'

  'And whither do you seek to go?  Have you any destination?' Father queried kindly.  'Nay, my lord, no place to call home.  The land will bear us as it will, and we ask no more,' the man replied.  'We have with us what we deem to be good payment for your hospitality, if you would so deign to grant it.  What say you, my lord?  Will you abide us?'

  'I will, and I would regardless of whether or not you brought aught in exchange for my permission,' Father answered.

  'Reward is our policy, and we abide by it strictly.'

  I appeared at my father's side and looked upwards, appraising the man and his people with a calculating gaze.  He bestowed a brief glance and smile upon me, but it irked me in some inexplicable way.  He made me uncomfortable.  His poise was like that of a hunter soon to strike.  One of the royal advisors, Avartil, who had accompanied the royal greeting procession looked at me with a raised brow, and then dismissed me with a shake of his head.

  'Then bring what you have to the palatial estate when time allows,' Father said, and gave a small start as I tugged at his sleeve.  'Elf?  Should you not be at your lessons?' he said, surprised and displeased.

  'I wanted to come out and see,' I answered stubbornly.  I pulled at his collar and he leant downwards, offering me his ear.  'I harbour misgivings about this man, Father.  He has an ill-favoured look,' I whispered.  'No, son, I am not sure where your mother is.  Have you looked in the Gardens of Eryn Lasgalen?' Father said, and his discreet way of covering covert matters made me smile.  

  'Ah, my lord, this be your boy, then?' inquired the stranger unobtrusively, motioning towards me.  'Yes, this is my boy,' Father said.

  'So lad, you are the prince Eldarion?  A fine boy, my lord, a fine boy.  I have heard much about you, my prince.  Oh, forgive me.  I forget myself.  I am Ferah.'  He extended a hand, and Father accepted it.  'Thank you greatly.  We could not express our gratitude.  I sincerely hope you will find our gifts pleasing,' Ferah said with a slight bow.

  And so the two companies departed.  That afternoon as I gazed down upon the fields, shielding my eyes against the glare of the westering sun, I saw tents of white canvas draped over with oiled skins erected on the grass.  Like busy ants the people went hurrying hither and thither, under eye of the sentries upon the walls of the Pelannor.  Small campfires were coaxed from beds of dried bracken and wood.  I watched them smoulder a while, before I was disturbed by a hesitant knock.

  I allowed the visitor entry, and my second sister Niphredil entered.  'You are required downstairs,' she said.  'There is something - someone, I should say, that you must meet.  Come.'

  He was a strange creature, arrayed in his motley of blue and black, silver bells adorning his awkward cap and with a jingling sceptre clutched uneasily in one long-fingered hand; eyes of palest cerulean and hair of darkest sable.  He reminded me of some trammelled wild creature, with his wild darting eyes and his tight mouth.  He seemed not to know how he should present himself, nor with what manner.  I perceived his fear, his want to scamper away and hide, to escape and be free as he obviously had once been.  I had felt that too, many times.

  A young woman of the vagrants accompanied him, keeping him on a short leash and allowing him little freedom.  'Here, my prince, we bring this for you,' she said haltingly, her words laced with an alien accent.  She presented the tether that held the poor thing captive to me.  I reluctantly received it, unsure of what to do.  'We hope he will prove his usefulness to you,' the woman wished me.  Then she dropped to the floor and touched her brow to the cold slate at my feet, before rising and vanishing from the chamber.

  I looked at my gift, startled and confused.  He made no move to wrench the rope from my hands, but stared at me.  Our uncertainty was mirrored in one another's eyes.  We did not dare to move for a long time.  

  And then with a fluid grace his hands began to motion questioningly.  'I-I am sorry,' I stammered.  'I do not understand.  Come with me,' I added commandingly, and gave the leash a light tug to convey that I wished for him to follow, thinking him a witling.  He kept a respectful distance, although his feet dragged and made obvious his unwillingness to do anything.  His immediate dislike for me radiated from him like an oppressing wave.  I took him to my chambers, and sank down on the bed.  He was left standing before me, glowering and twirling his sceptre.

  'So, you - you are a jester?' I asked.  He frowned but nodded and tipped his hat.  It was no simple feat to capture and enslave an Elf, and to have him paraded around in such a ridiculous fashion, to be parleyed away like some common creature.  I knew his lineage for his ears were pointed, like my mother's, and like those my father's friend Legolas.  I kicked my feet idly.  Was he for serving or amusement?  I did not agree with claiming ownership over another soul.  Had Father seen and given his approval?  He did not hold with slavery either.  But this Elvish creature would have had to pass inspection by the king before being allowed in.  Father, I decided, had been loath to appear rude and decline the generous offering of Ferah's people.

  The Elven jester abruptly dropped where he stood, sitting daintily with crossed legs and resting his head despondently in his hands.  I pitied him.  I did not want him, not like this.  I did not want him to hate me.

  'My name is Eldarion,' I said gently, wondering if he was in his right mind, for he seemed to be far out of it to me.  He looked up at me and nodded slowly, as though he thought I was dim-witted.  I felt taken aback by that, and angered.  Although I had taken to being a royal recluse, preferring to sequester myself from the main life of court, I was unaccustomed to being denied, or defied.  

  'What is your name?' I demanded harshly, and rebuked myself.  He is unused to this place, I reminded myself forcefully.  He will need time to adjust.

  He looked at me balefully and shook his head.  His hands twirled again in some sort of sign language.  'I do not understand,' I repeated.  He looked hopeless, and glanced about fretfully.  His eyes wandered most to the door that hung still ajar, and he regarded the rope that held him like some untamed beast with utter hatred.  Meaningfully the hands twisted and twined once more.  I grew exasperated.  'I have told you, I do not understand.  Have you no tongue?  Are you mute?'

  He nodded glumly, and then, curling the fingers of his right hand he hunched over and began to make motions with it in the air.  I watched him carefully.  He was trying to mime something.  I had seen that before.  Yes, I did that everyday.  I laughed aloud.  'Paper and a quill?  Is that what you want?' I asked him.  He clapped his hands together and tilted his head sideways, wearing a dull expression.  I was not sure whether he meant to complement or insult, so I ignored him and fetched him what he wanted.  

  He took the quill and leant over the parchment, working busily for a moment or two, and then presented his work to me.  His handwriting was quite intricate and well formed, and he was well learned in his letters.  I admired his writing before I payed much heed to what he had written.

  My name is Paradox, my prince, and I may be a Fool, but I am not a witless one.

  'Paradox?' I said in confusion.  'Have you no other name?  Nothing more suited, such as a kenning I might call you by?'

  He heaved a sigh and shook his head.  He held out a hand for the parchment once more.

  Is there anything you would have me do?  I have been brought as a gift for you; I am not merely an ornament.  I do have some uses.

  Silence stretched vast between us.  I sensed just how distanced we were from one another.  My mind worked over any task I could give him, although I did not particularly want to be incumbent on a mute Elf Fool.  'Would you prefer to dress more accordingly?  Here our servants are attired in the correct livery,' I said at length.

  His disapproval of the word 'servant' was apparent, but he gaped at me, and fervently declared his reluctance to part with his own clothing.

  'Are you hungry?'

  No.

  'Do you wish a drink, then?'

  No.

  'Perhaps a bath?'

  No.

  'Would you like anything?'

  No.  

  I was brought to serve you, not to be served by you, he informed me huffily.  Although, if you are so willing to do something for me, I would not disapprove of becoming more familiar with this place.

  I conceded to his wishes, and took my new Elven jesting servant out.  Perhaps out of covetousness I kept him on his leash, although when he offered no resistance and evinced only a pleasure and satisfaction at being allowed some freedom, no matter how limited, I untied him.  While I acquainted him with the palace and the gardens and shared some Minas Tirith lore, I took the chance to become more acquainted with him.  I learnt little through his incoherent hand speech, some of which I managed to decipher, the majority of which left me wandering in the dark.

  He found the Gardens of Eryn Lasgalen most enjoyable, and walked beside me with frank admiration.  He delighted in the sweet fragrances of the roses and the jasmine, and the mockorange that had recently blossomed and lent its own pungent fragrance to the dizzying motley of scents.  I felt a pride in my home, bathing in the astonishment of my strange serving companion.  My mother's own hands had tended these gardens and brought Legolas' dream for Minas Tirith to fruition.

  The weeping willow that trailed long leafy fingers in the water of the marble fountain took Paradox's fancy.  At first when he leapt into it I was worried he was about to escape, and cried out angrily; although when he looked at me strangely, having settled himself lengthways over a branch, a blush suffused my complexion.  

  'Our family's friend Legolas Greenleaf designed these gardens,' I informed him.  'An Elf, like you,' I added, although there was probably little need to say that.  Paradox rested his chin on the backs of his hands and nodded.  The dislike for me I had felt earlier seemed to have dissipated somewhat, replaced with a strange relief.  Perhaps I had found someone who had been at least as lonely as I.  I had my three sisters, but they were as companionable as a thorn in a foot, and often too giggly to make much sense of.

  _Where do you come from? I wondered.  _Who are you?  Who were you?__

  This new servant of mine was an enigma, although perhaps, given time, he would open up to me.  I did not want him to be unwillingly forced into my service.  I wanted to be a friend.

  I needed to be a friend, because I needed one in return.  The last fires of day were fast fading, and the sky was painted a paling pink along the horizon, the high vault of the firmament stained cobalt with the coming of night.  A lone star twinkled above the crown of a great peak.  Paradox's eyes were fixed upon it.  

  Ferah's camp had been made, and cooking fires had sprung up beside the pitched tents.  The nomads were visible only as tiny silhouettes against the dark of the fields.  Torches flickered upon the walls, eclipsed by the passing forms of guards on duty.  This was my home.  Could it be one for Paradox too?

  When the cold began to set in, I summoned Paradox down from his place high in the tree.  He came grudgingly, although his loyalties forcibly lay with me.  The water gurgled and splashed merrily in the fountain, contrasting with the grim shadow that was present at my side, bound to me through no agreement.

  I came from my bath that night, to find Paradox's lack of presence.  I flitted about worriedly, wondering where he had gotten too, whether he had fled in terror.  It took me a while before I grew calm enough to notice the parchment sitting on my pillow.

  Please excuse me, my prince.  If you require me I am in the Elvish garden.

  I peered from my window.  The silver bells of Paradox's Fool's cap jangled, teased in the light breeze.  The Jester was painted in black against the dark gold-flecked canvas of the night, melded to it.  The raven's wing of his hair drifted upon spring's breath.  I suddenly knew then who he was.

  He was everything.


End file.
